


Dreams He Doesn't Have

by enlili



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A little of fluff, Angst, Angst and Feels, But so is Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, derek's a mess, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enlili/pseuds/enlili
Summary: He hasn’t seen Stiles for such a long time. It feels as if it were years, but it was only several months, really. It just the fact that without him time seems to drag on mercilessly, and Derek only wishes it passed faster and counts down to the next time he will be able to see him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	Dreams He Doesn't Have

**Author's Note:**

> alright, so this is a little idea that came across my mind and i just had to write it  
> hope you like it  
> mind that English is not my mother tongue so there might be mistakes but don't let that spoil your fun!

He hasn’t seen Stiles for such a long time. It feels as if it were years, but it was only several months, really. It just the fact that without him time seems to drag on mercilessly, and Derek only wishes it passed faster and counts down to the next time he will be able to see him.

For him, Stiles hasn’t change at all. He still overshadows everyone else on his way. Even though intimidating, still everyone wants to get to know him and take him from Derek away. Derek thinks that it’s possible that Stiles has put on a little weight. As if it changes anything. Derek still thinks Stiles is the most gorgeous person in the world, still has no equals, still is madly in love with him. And Stiles still doesn’t know it.

He watches him from a distance as Stiles strolls down holding a girl’s hand. They get into the restaurant; he laughs at a joke she says, and he holds her close. She is much shorter that Stiles and he has to lean towards her to hear what she is saying. It actually kind of cute, but Derek can’t shake himself from a thought that if it were him, he wouldn’t have to do this, and his back wouldn’t hurt later that day. He sees Stiles’ broad smile, sees the way his lips curl at the corners. Derek loves the sound of the young man’s laughter. Although some says it’s too loud, too obnoxious, Derek likes it a lot, thinks it fits his personality and fills the void in Derek’s heart, that he feels every time his eyes rest on Stiles. His cheeks are blushed, and Derek does not know whether it’s from the cold or laughing. He’d like to touch them with his mouth, kiss them gently, move his lips to Stiles’, kissing the corners of them, hoping he wouldn’t see. He knows Stiles knows it’s an illusion. But even then, Stiles says nothing.

Stiles holds the door for the girl, and she looks at him, and Derek is offended because she doesn’t look as if she looked at a true miracle, only at a normal, equal person. Darek is sure that she can’t worship him in the way Derek would, or at least he would try.

Derek know that Stiles doesn’t know it, but Derek knows almost everything about him. From the very first time he heard his name, which sounded like a fine music and quickly became a private anthem on his tongue that he sings with an utter mirth and reverence. He didn’t know how important and especial it will become to him. Then it was all downhill. He met him, and Stiles just fascinated him. He had to get to know him better. He wanted to imbibe each and every information about him. And so, through the years, the has been gathering and collecting and treasuring it, caring about it as he would care about Stiles if only, he let him. Derek knows Stiles wasn’t born in Beacon Hills, but somewhere in Europe but then has moved here with his family. Derek knows Stiles loves his collage even though that means he doesn’t see his friends, including Derek, as often as he used to. Knows he’s an only child but he has always wanted to have a younger sister. Knows he always drink a mug of coffee in the mornings and is never late for classes, knows, that in the evenings, when taking a bath, Stiles brushes his teeth first and then takes a shower, knows, that he supports animals rights and would never wear anything made out of leather or fur, knows, that he is more tolerant than most people in this forsaken place, and he knows, that one his smile could heal him from any wound, on body and mind alike. Knows that other are jealous of his wit, his open-mindedness and his courage. And although Stiles through laughter always says that said courage is exactly why he always finds himself in the middle of a trouble, Derek knows he is serious about it.

Derek knows that Stiles consider himself imperfect, but there were times when Derek saw him wearing next to nothing, and in all honesty, he has no idea what Stiles is so sure about his flaws. He is immaculate. If God existed, that would be what their creation would look like. The final piece that fits perfectly with the rest. In Derek’s eyes, he is perfect in every detail, starting from these brown, messy hair, through big, brown eyes that shine so bright, delicate but not fragile arms, pale chest adored with moles, slightly narrower waist, wider hips, and strong, lean thighs, to his feet that Derek would kiss every time he could. He knows Stiles hates small stretchmarks on his hipbones and the fact that every scratch and bruise can be seen on his skin. Knows that he hates those red marks that appear on his body when he sits too long in one position. Knows that sometimes Stiles is so preoccupied with something, he forgets to eat, drink and breath. Derek knows he could continue to name these things, but for what? It all comes down to a one simple thing anyway. He is beautiful, he is a wonder. And he is not Derek’s.

Derek follows Stiles with his eyes when he and the girls sit together. One more minute and people will start to spot him and think him fool, but then again that is exactly what he becomes when he’s near Stiles. He sees him smiling widely and thinks again about his loud laughter, and Derek can’t help himself but smiles as well. Stiles’ face is still blushed a little and Derek is eaten up with jealousy that it is not he who is responsible for it. He looks at their hands. The girl’s palm rests on Stiles’ and Derek thinks that they just don’t fit. They are not right for each other. At least form Derek’s point of view, but he might be biased.

Stiles runs his other hand through his hair. The move is a little clumsy, but Derek adores it all the same. He notices his hair is longer and he wants to touch it, feel its softness and inhale its scent. Stiles takes his brown eyes from the girl and starts to look around the restaurant, pleasing everyone with their colour, glint and grace. Derek would give everything he has to let Stiles spot him, but he just can’t, not now, not like this. When Stiles’ eyes are dangerously close to Derek, still standing in the middle of the pavement, looking through the restaurant’s window, he just turns around and walks away, committing to the memory the picture of Stiles, his every move, for he knows that it is uncertain when he will see him again.

* * *

Another week has passed. Darek thinks about Stiles all the time. He thinks about him when he wakes up, about his body so close to his own, about the heat radiating from him. He thinks about pressing him even closer to feel these expanses of fair skin, kissing his pale arms and neck, then whole face, ending with a sweet kiss on his lips. He thinks about him when he makes breakfast, reaching for Stiles’ favourite products. He only has those, for half a year ago they ate a meal together and Stiles said he loves brown bread. After that Darek started buying only this kind although he didn’t like it himself. He learnt to like it a few months ago. Everything for Stiles. He thinks about him when he runs and when he works, trying his best to keep the job, even though he doesn’t really need it, it just keeps him busy. At least he thinks so. He thinks about him when he eats dinner, imagining that Stiles sits next to him with a fork in his mouth, that he rolls his eyes at a terrible joke Derek makes but laughs anyway. He thinks about him when he meets with his friends who never ask about Stiles. They can’t, they don’t know him. Such a shame, they don’t know what they are missing out. He thinks about him when he does shopping. Darek always makes sure that he has products Stiles likes, just in case the young man will come one day to his loft, open the cupboards and says, “Oh, you remembered I like this, I just feel like that”. Stiles has never come to him yet, but Derek isn’t one to lose hope so fast. He thinks about him in the evenings and at nights, when he lays alone in his cold sheets, orgasming with head filled with images of Stiles, his face, his body, his voice, whishing it was Stiles’ body close to his, his hand on him and not his own, that if he leans just a little, his face will be placed in Stiles’ neck, and he will whisper that he loves him, that he is his world, that he is the only one, for there was no one before him and is no one else. Will never be. He thinks about him when he falls asleep with his face pressed to the pillow, running thoughts in his head and cheeks wet from the tears.

He imagines Stiles, even in the way he can’t have him. Especially in the way, he can’t have him. In his head, Derek sees his pretty face so close to his own. His cheeks flushed, mouth open to make breathing easier, his brown eyes staring into Derek’s, just Derek’s, the same way Derek’s stare into his, because suddenly everything seems to make sense. It is as it always supposed to be. Stiles’ nails marks the skin on Derek’s back, his legs are hooked behind Derek’s hips, his heels dig into Derek’s arse, pulling him closer and closer still, his toes curling, and then Stiles’ head falls back, his hair tousled, Derek’s tongue is on his neck, Derek’s lips are on his chest, and Derek’s hands are all over his body in places where he needs them most, everywhere, everywhere.

And then Derek opens his eyes and it all passes. He opens his eyes and is alone again.

* * *

Derek worries about Stiles all the time. He worries if Stiles sleeps long enough, if he’s healthy and well, if he eats, if he takes care of himself, respect and love himself as Derek would. Worries if Stiles is honest to and understanding of himself. Worries if Stiles has someone to talk to, for if he does then it makes one of them. If Stiles looked at his reflection in the mirror this morning and smiled at himself despite knowing how tough his day is going to be. Worries about his studies, if he passes every exam without many sleepless nights, if he has friends there. Worries if, after everything they’ve been through, it is possible for Stiles to feel safe, if he’s okay, if he would like to change anything. Worries if the thought of him ever passes through Stiles’ mind, but that is not one of concerns to the young man. Simply irrelevant.

Derek remembers that lately one of their mutual friends – Lydia maybe, or was it Scott – has told him that Stiles had to travel to different city for an internship. And so now Derek has a hell of a lot more to worry about. If a journey there was safe, if Stiles felt well, for Derek knows just how much he deters long travels and avoids them for all costs. If his hotel is suitable for him. If it’s located in a safe neighbourhood, if they treat him right. If he is safe during the work. If he goes out come the evening. Goes to the town with people he’s just met to drink or just talk and have fun. If he brings back a special someone to the hotel, even though he is dating this girl, who is not Derek. If Stiles smiles at them in the same endearing way. If he is happy, and if so, is it because Derek’s not there.

This night, when Derek’s head hits the pillow and he falls asleep after long tossing and turning, he dreams about a terrible accident in which everyone died, he hears Stiles’ frightened screams as he dies in the worst possible way. This night, Derek wakes up at least three times, screaming with Stiles.

* * *

Derek sees him a whole eternity and a one moment later. Beacon Hills is not that small but fate seems to have a good laugh about setting Stiles on Derek’s way so he cannot forget about him. Stiles walks on the pavement, is on the phone. Derek watches the way an autumn sun shines on his fair skin, the way it adores him. Thinks that Stiles is like the sun itself. Wherever he appears, he is always the centre of attention. And if Stiles is the sun, then Derek is a devoted moon, orbiting him and reflecting his light. He watches Stiles for a while but then reprimands himself for he knows he must look like some creepy stalker. He waits till Stiles ends his phone call, comes up to him and starts a small talk before he can think this through and stop himself.

“Stiles?”

“Oh, Derek. Hi,” his name rolls on his tongue in the way Derek could get addicted to. Probably already is. “Long time no see. How are you?” Stiles asks with a small smile on his face, looking up at Derek’s face. Derek hopes he isn’t wasting Stiles’ time and that the young man isn’t mad or irritated and that he only wishes Derek would walk away and leave him alone.

Derek smiles with desperation written on his features. He puts his hands in his pockets, for he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to restrain himself from touching Stiles.

“You have a minute? Been quite a long time, indeed. How about a cup of coffee?”

Stiles bites his lip and wraps himself in his scarf. He ponders for several seconds while Derek tries to calm himself down.

“Alright,” he says eventually, and Derek stops himself from crying with joy.

Derek suggests a small, cosy café because he is sure Stiles will like it. It’s not crowded which is not a big surprise as it is Thursday’s morning and people are at work and students in schools. But Stiles is here, and he is here with Derek. They sit at a table in the corner. Derek tries not to stare at him, especially when Stiles takes off his coat what suggest he wants to stay here longer that ten minutes.

“So…” Stiles starts, shortly after he ordered, with a self-confidence that is very Stiles-like. “How are you?”

Derek thinks about everything he wants to tell Stiles, and about everything he won’t tell him. Stiles has absolutely no clue about the things Derek says to him when he lies alone in bed, because he hasn’t got the courage to say them in when they are face to face.

“Ah, same old, I guess. Seems that your life is much more interesting, isn’t it? I heard that you’ve just come back to the town,” he says and tries to hide the bitterness in his voice that Stiles hadn’t told him.

“Yeah, it’s not such a big thing, though,” he assures Derek, running his fingers through his hair. “Got an internship in the local police station. That’s how college works, you know.” No, Derek does not know but he doesn’t press the topic either.

Derek smiles awkwardly. He wonders how he should start a conversation about that damn girl and not sound like a paranoic. The waiter, who brings them their order, a tall man, with a broad smile pointed at Stiles, buys him some time, but it changes exactly nothing, for when he walks away, Derek still doesn’t know what to say.

But then again, what exactly is he supposed to say? That when he is with Stiles, he thinks he finally understands the reason he was born. That his life is no longer just a bunch of unfortunate situations, never-ending failures. That his life is no longer just a room for people to walk through. That everything starts to make sense and becomes consistent. That it depends on Stiles how Derek’s life will go on, because he is the one who creates it. And although it’s all truth, Derek won’t say it, for he is sure that if Stiles heard it, he wouldn’t even look at Derek before he run out from the café, wanting to be as far away from him as he could.

Derek opens his mouth to say literally anything, having faith in his brain that it won’t fail him, and he will manage something that actually is sensible, but Stiles is the one who speaks first.

“I miss you, Derek,” he says deadly serious, fiddling with a teaspoon in his long fingers, and Derek is at a loss of words. Doesn’t know what is appropriate to say, what Stiles considers appropriate. 

So, Derek looks at him with wide eyes and that has to tell something, for Stiles lower his eyes and stares at his steaming beverage instead, his cheeks are blushed slightly as if he can’t believe he could say something so ridiculous.

“Me too, Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles looks at him questioningly with those brown eyes. “I miss you too. I miss hanging out in my loft. How many times have we met since the beginning of your collage? Twice? Even less?” Derek doesn’t mention all those times that he ran across him and did nothing. Derek doesn’t want for his words to sound truculently, because this is clearly not Stiles’ fault, more Derek’s if anything, but he knows that they sound like this anyway. He just doesn’t know if the venom is pointed at Stiles, himself, Stiles’ girlfriend or maybe at every of them.

“I wanted it to be different,” Stiles says quietly, weighing his words.

Derek wants to tell him everything, wants to tell him anything, but he bites his tongue. He just reaches for Stiles’ hand and holds it in his. The young man’s skin in cool and soft, just like he is. He squeezes it gently. Stiles doesn’t try to take it away. He lets his gaze drop and looks at their joined hands, but his sight in absent. Derek doesn’t know what he is thinking about, doesn’t know if he wants to know.

Derek is stressed for several moments, for this is so similar to the way Stiles and this girl sat together the last time Derek saw him, hands linked together. He is scared, for he doesn’t know what that means. But then it starts to disappear, when Stiles’ eyes are on him again and he smiles subtly.

They don’t talk much after that, there isn’t much to talk about after all. They are just sitting, listening to the café’s music, holding hands like a couple of lovestruck teenagers. It’s so stupid, Derek thinks, but he won’t say it to Stiles either, for this is exactly what he wants for them.

* * *

The next time Derek sees him is exactly three days later in unexpected circumstances. Derek opens the door this evening, wondering who would come here in such bad weather. It’s been raining since the midday. First, he thinks that maybe it’s one of his colleagues, but when he opens the door, Stiles is standing in front of him, shaking slightly, looking stressed. His hair is wet and tousled as if he ran his fingers through it one too many times. He looks at Derek with fear in his eyes, what doesn’t suit him one bit, and Derek starts to panic. Has something happened? Is Stiles okay? Or maybe it was Derek who has done something he shouldn’t have? That was to be expected, Derek thinks with bitterness.

“Stiles,” he says quietly.

“I… Derek, I…” Stiles is mumbling, not really knowing where to start.

“Come in, please,” Derek tries to help him the best he can, though he doesn’t know what to do. “Are you fine?”

He closes the door behind him and looks at him as Stiles throw his wet coat at the coach and turns to face Derek.

“Is anybody else in here?”

Derek shakes his head, thinking who else could be here. Stiles bites his lower lip, and then suddenly is standing right in front of Derek, and his lips are on Derek’s and Derek has absolutely no idea what is happening, but he never has it when he’s with Stiles so that’s fine. Stiles presses his body against Derek’s, clings to him a little, but he eases away from him when Derek doesn’t respond.

“Tell me we are on the same side,” he whispers, staring at Derek’s mouth.

Derek is silent for next few nervous heartbeats and ragged breaths.

“What about…”

“She doesn’t matter, not now,” he answers quickly and puts his hands on Derek’s cheeks, Stiles’ skin is just as cool as it was in that café. “Please,” he whispers and kisses him again.

Derek’s hands find their way to Stiles’ waist. He curses Stiles’ sweater and every piece of clothing, really, that separate his skin from Stiles’, but it seems that Stiles is thinking the same thing, because a while later the clothes litter the dark floor. Derek looks at him. He was right all along, Stiles has put on a little weight, but was right about something else too - it does not change anything at all. He still wants to tell him to let Derek worship him with everything he is. Let him fall to his feet and never stand up again. To worship him with everything he has, everything what’s inside him, what makes him complete, what’s in his head, everything he was, is, and ever will be, everywhere he was, where he will be and where he won’t ever appear. With what he dreams about. He doesn’t want anything in return. Just to be his. And maybe sometimes a single look from his brown, pretty eyes. For Stiles to let them rest on him. And if Stiles smiles from time to time, he would consider this a private victory.

Stiles takes his hand and, now naked, guides him to his bedroom as if he has done it thousands of times in the past in different places than Derek’s imagination and dreams. Stiles lays himself in the middle of the bed, soft pillow take his weight with utter joy, and pulls Derek on top of himself.

And then he pleases Derek to look at him, only at him, but then again Derek doesn’t see anyone else anyway, so where else can he look? There hasn’t been anyone since he met Stiles, since he saw him.

And then it’s exactly as Derek thought it would be, but better, so much better. Stiles looks at him and he looks at Stiles, just like Stiles wanted, and Stiles’ nails dig into skin on Derek’s shoulders, and Stiles’ thighs are wrapped tightly about his hips, and Stiles’ cheeks are flushed, his eyes are closing and opening by turns, and his mouth is open or busy with Derek’s, and his body is so close to Derek’s that Derek’s skin is burning, but that’s fine because Stiles’ skin, that is not cool anymore, is too, and his hair is resting around him like a halo, and Stiles is making sounds that Derek wants to hear every night on end, that he will remember till the day he dies and even after that, and their breaths are rapid, and the air is hot and stuffy and smells like them, and Stiles is so warm and so tight, and he just fits Derek so nice, and Derek’s hands do everything they can, touch Stiles everywhere they can, everywhere Stiles needs them. And then it’s even warmer, even stuffier, even louder. Even cosier.

And then they are lying in rumpled sheets, Derek’s forehead is resting on the sweaty skin between Stiles’ shoulder blades, and he thinks that he’d like to get up for a second to open the window, for the stuffiness is unbearable now, but he can’t bear the thought of taking away his arms that are full of Stiles either. So, they lie, and Derek starts to think that Stiles has fallen asleep, but when he looks at his face, his eyes are not closed, and his still flushed cheeks are wet with tears.

“Stiles? Hey, look at me,” he pleases quietly, turning Stiles’ face, so he doesn’t have anywhere to hide from him. Derek knows that Stiles can’t really cope with feelings, but he can’t either, and he doesn’t know if he is able to help him, but he can’t stand the sight of those sad eyes and can’t just look at him while Stiles is falling apart. Not him. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” he whispers and even tries to smile, but Derek knows that smile. Stiles does that sometimes, looks at him and says that everything is okay, but Derek knows Stiles is breaking down, sees it in his eyes, for they know him and don’t know how to lie to him.

He sees it now too.

“Stiles, please,” he begs, hugging his body, and carefully wiping the tears away with his finger.

“I just got lost,” he whispers, clinging to the quilt and Derek alike, and squeezing his eyes shut.

Derek is silent and then it hits him.

“You regret,” he says quietly, not daring to raise his voice. It’s not really a question, though he thinks that it supposed to be.

“What? No. No, I don’t regret. I just… I don’t know what point of my life I am at right now. I’m confused.” Derek nods, though he has no idea what that means. Stiles says no more but after few deep breaths he turns his body and looks straight in Derek’s eyes. “Don’t let me go.”

Derek shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did,” he answers firmly, brushing the hair out of Stiles’ face, and smiling with sadness.

Stiles looks at him a moment longer, his expression is blank, but then he moves closer, places his face in Derek’s neck, clinging to him as if Derek is his anchor keeping him above the water. Derek kisses his shoulder, closes his eyes and listen to the pouring rain.

Soon Stiles will leave his loft and Derek doesn’t know if he will ever come back again, but he has hope. And maybe, just maybe, perhaps even in this universe, when they meet again, they’ll change. They will be older, will be different, will be better. Derek won’t be chaos to Stiles’ thoughts and Stiles won’t be poison to Derek’s heart. Maybe everything will be fine.

But not yet, not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks a lot for reading!


End file.
